Shadow of the Day
by overloaddd
Summary: Sequel to "Somewhere Only We Know". The group is divided, and Leigh and Daryl are on their own against another round of the zombie apocalypse. Can they reunite with the Atlanta survivors? DarylxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**I don't own _The Walking Dead_.

* * *

**And the shadow of the day  
Will embrace the world in grey**

The sun crept slowly over the eastern horizon, drowning the landscape of rolling hills and endless, but bare, forests in a bright, orange-pink hue. Birds called out, echoing in the brisk morning air, and the silhouettes of walkers ambled in the fields down below. The breeze carried the scent of death and decomposition up the slope, rattling the bare branches and blowing wisps of snow up into white tornadoes. They swirled around his knees as he crouched, the binoculars pressed to a face turned red from the cold. He watched through the lenses as the walkers shuffled around aimlessly in the snow. Once the winter descended upon Georgia, they'd grown even slower than usual. Due to a lack of food—and he shuddered at the thought of being in said category—their bodies had greatly deteriorated, leaving them no more than skin and bones. Their groans and growls carried up the hill, and he shifted the binocs to the outlying prison, where more figures hurried about. He zoomed in on them, watching them clear the spot of land dedicated to their new crops, graze the pair of horses they'd brought with them. A very pregnant woman, with her hand on her belly, waddled out from the shelter of the prison, only to have her husband very urgently usher her back in despite her protests. Their voices carried, but he could not make out the words. Hearing the groan of a walker too close for comfort, he quickly packed up his belongings and shuffled off, sure to step only in the tracks he made on his way up the hill. The wind bit at his exposed skin, slid up under his winter gear, which consisted of a thick pair of pants with a sweatshirt and a windbreaker over it and a pair of hunters' boots and thick socks, and brought goose flesh to rise. He shivered involuntarily as his boots crunched in the thin layer of snow. He cursed silently as the wind picked up again and nearly blew his black wool hat off his head. The walk back to base would be a cold and miserable one, he knew.

* * *

Leigh sat up in the front seat of the SUV, yawning loudly. The man beside her glanced over briefly, but quickly fixed his gaze back on the road littered with abandoned and wrecked cars. She yawned out a question that he didn't understand, and a corner of his mouth twitched as color flooded her cheeks.

"I said, where are we?" She settled back against the window and glanced at the clock on the car's stereo. Three in the afternoon, and the temperature had barely risen since this morning. She huddled further into her sweatshirt looted on their last trip.

"Just outside Dalton, I think. Lost track a few exits ago," Daryl murmured, pulling a hand off the wheel to chew on his thumbnail. Leigh watched the wintery landscape cruise by and twisted the cap off a water bottle, handing it to him once she'd finished.

"We still on the 75?" she asked, sitting forward to squint up the highway for signs. Daryl tipped back the water, swished it in his mouth, and placed the bottle in the cup holder.

"Think so. Haven't taken an exit since that last one that put us on this stretch in the first place."

"Any walkers?"

"None we should be worried 'bout." As he finished speaking he jerked the wheel to the left to take down the lone walker ambling towards the car, its bottom jaw hanging by a few strands of muscle. It bounced off the grill of the SUV, and the car lurched as the body was crushed beneath it. Leigh smirked as she tightly gripped the grab handle and the car resumed its steady cruise.

"What about signs for stores? Fast food?" Daryl smirked.

"In the mood fer a Big Mac are ya?"

Leigh groaned. "You have no idea." Then she smiled wistfully, remembering. "I miss cookouts. And barbecue."

Daryl closed his eyes and growled. "Can't just say shit like that."

"Why?" she joked, leaning her head back as Daryl steered the car around a pile of burnt wreckage. He glanced at her.

"It's a hell of a tease." He smirked when she stuck her tongue out at him. Then, suddenly, her smile dropped.

"You think we'll find them again?" she asked, her voice much quieter. He didn't say anything; instead, he reached over to squeeze her fingers between his. Neither of them wanted to admit that relocating the rest of their group would be like finding a needle in a haystack—next to impossible. Leigh didn't know how long it'd been since she and Daryl left on their hunt, were ambushed by Ted and his team of cannibal henchmen. Then the group had split once it got wind of a herd headed in their direction. They'd drawn up a map, sure, but honestly, who could say they hadn't encountered another problem and moved on? Or worse, what if they'd come under attack and hadn't been able to make it out? What then?

Daryl continuously glanced at her as they drove, noticing her sudden silence. Her eyes stared blankly out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Eventually, the smooth ride lulled her back to sleep, and Daryl chewed on his thumbnail. It had only been a few days at most that they'd been separated from their group, but he knew Leigh was tiring herself out with worry over their friends and fellow survivors. He, too, was worried, but he wasn't showing it, wouldn't show it. Not in front of Leigh. She worried enough for both of them without his own uneasiness being thrown into the mix. So instead, he let it fester, run throughout his entire body as if it were the very blood keeping him alive. And in a way, it was keeping him alive. He worried so much that it drove him relentlessly to reunite with the Atlanta survivors; his loss in locating Sophia, safe and unharmed, had hit him harder than one of his father's slugs to the gut, harder than he'd been expecting, and it did something to him. Something inside him burned so hotly that he feared his skin would begin peeling right off. He'd find them, if not for himself then for Leigh. She at least needed to see them all again, and if they couldn't find them, she'd need closure—whether it be their bodies or signs that they were still alive and elsewhere. He knew the pain of loss; after he'd found nothing but Merle's hand on that roof in Atlanta, he'd been hell-bent on believing his brother was dead, just so he wouldn't drive himself crazy with the hope that he was alive. But deep down, he knew Merle was a tough son of a bitch, and that he'd fight until he was deader than dead.

Leigh didn't wake up for a few hours, and by that time Daryl was turning off the freeway. He steered with one hand, held up the map in the other.

"Where are we now?" she asked, her voice and eyes heavy with sleep.

"Jus' gettin' off the 75. We got 'bout two and a half miles 'fore we come up on this housin' development Andrea circled off. Might be a place we can stop and get supplies, and hopefully some food. Can only live off cold canned corn for so long," he grumbled. Leigh chuckled humorlessly.

The rest of the ride was silent as the car ambled into the closest town. The charred remains of a gas station smoked to their right, and Leigh shuddered as she saw a foot crushed beneath one of the gas pumps.

_Poor flat bastard_, she thought. A general store with its windows smashed out came up after the gas station. Exchanging a brief glance, Daryl pulled the car into the parking lot. Armed, they snuck inside. A walker tore into the stuffed beaver next to the register. A single bolt to the forehead put him down. A crawler gurgled further down the beverage aisle and was quickly dispatched with a few quick blows to the head by Leigh's bat.

She whistled through her teeth to call Daryl down the aisle, and once he stepped up beside her, they stared in awe at the almost fully-stocked refrigerator. There was enough water to finish an entire bottle in one sitting and enough caffeinated drinks to ensure that they wouldn't be falling asleep at the wheel. They piled everything, flat soda and sour juice, stale Donettes and crackers, into the pack, fitting everything else in the leftover plastic bags behind the counter. The back of the SUV was crammed with food, drink, and medical supplies. Leigh even let out a small yelp of happiness when she came across an unharmed can of Maxwell House coffee. She hugged it to her chest as they finished their raid.

"Did we hit the lottery or what?" she asked as she tore into a bag of Twizzlers. She stuffed two in her mouth and bit off the ends. Daryl, meanwhile, kept one hand on the wheel as he ripped open a packet of Donettes with his teeth.

"Why do you think that place wasn't stripped clean?" she asked absentmindedly, chewing happily. Daryl took a swig from his water bottle.

"Explosion probably scared everyone off. Never thought to come back."

Leigh hummed thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Their loss."

They drove another hour or so in content silence until they reached the next town, where they easily found a rundown motel to hunker down for the night. The former desk receptionist hung over the counter, snarling quietly. Her yellow eyes focused in on the newcomers and her snarls grew louder, her gaping maw snapping hungrily. Daryl quickly loaded his bow and put a bolt between her eyes, retrieved it with a sickening squish, wiped the blood and brain matter on his pant leg. The pair stepped outside and searched for a room. Eight of the twelve rooms were locked up tight, chairs and whatnot dragged under the doorknob to keep something out—or in. They snuck by those without much of a fuss and quickly settled on the last room in the row. The room stunk of decay and death. Leigh tugged her shirt over her nose and Daryl prepared another bolt just in case. The bathroom door was closed, but no noise was heard from behind it. Still, Leigh pressed herself against the wall and reached forward to twist the knob. The door swung open and the floodgates open. Leigh bent over the trash can beside the television stand as her lunch made its reappearance.

"Bastard shot himself in the head. Don't come in here. Don't need to see this." Leigh nodded and leaned back against the wall, letting her dizziness and nausea pass over. "Go get stuff outta the car. Gonna drag this guy out back. Nothin' to do about the stench though."

Once the body had been disposed of, they set to work cleaning up the mess in the living area. The mattress had a massive blood stain, so it was flipped over. The sheets were disposed of with the body and replaced with their own blankets and pillows from the car. For precautions, the vehicle was moved around back so it wouldn't be seen by anyone passing through. Daryl kept the keys in his shirt pocket and his machete propped up against the nightstand. After Ted had destroyed Luna, Daryl had flown into a tizzy and had insisted on locating a sporting goods store. The one they found was, coincidentally, fresh out of crossbows. He'd knocked a few shelves to the ground in his rage, and Leigh sat back and let him cool off before handing him the machete with the black leather grip.

"I'll keep watch," Leigh offered. When Daryl opened his mouth, she quickly cut him off. "I slept all day in the car. You drove. Get some sleep. I'll be fine." He looked as if he wanted to argue some more, but Leigh placed her fists on her hips and raised her eyebrows. With a sigh he threw himself on the bed on his back, one leg propped up. Leigh, meanwhile, grabbed the Beretta Rick had left them, pulled a chair to the window, and began disassembling it to clean it. Her bat was within arms' reach.

"Not likely I'm gonna get sleep anyhow," Daryl grumbled, readjusting himself to lay on his side. Leigh smiled.

"You say that now. I guarantee it, give it five minutes and you'll be—" She stopped when she looked up, found his eyes closed and his breathing even. "Out like a light."

* * *

The next morning, Daryl woke extremely well-rested. Leigh was slumped in the chair uncomfortably, staring out the window. Sleepily, he dug his heels into his eyes and sat up, placing his socked feet on the floor.

"'w come ya didn't wake me? Woulda taken watch." He yawned loudly as Leigh straightened.

"Couldn't wake you if a bomb went off. You needed the rest."

"Anythin' happen last night?" Leigh shook her head.

"A couple strays but nothing seemed to interest them here for very long. They walked off about an hour or two ago. Didn't see any cars drive by."

Nodding, Daryl began packing up their belongings to bring around back. They moved quickly, hoping to get on the road before the sun rose over the trees. According to their map, they still had quite a distant to drive in order to reach the housing development. Not to mention, Daryl was anxious to get on the road to prevent their activity at the motel from being noticed. They were pulling away from the motel shortly after.

Leigh offered to drive, despite being awake for the entirety of the previous night and Daryl's protests. She ordered him to get more sleep, that she would be fine driving with a bottle of soda to keep her awake. After sleeping so much the day before, she felt fully rested and ready for anything, even a twenty- to thirty-mile drive.

Unlike Daryl and his habit of running over walkers, Leigh simply chose to veer around them and avoid them altogether, and since Daryl had fallen back asleep, she didn't want to risk a head injury by running them over. He didn't remain asleep for long, though, and shifted every few minutes in the seat. Leigh smirked. _Restless_.

"Quit fidgeting over there," she snapped jokingly. "It's distracting." Daryl stopped for a while, but then he was at it again. When Leigh sent him another look, he shrugged and glared.

"Can't sit still for too long. Need to get out."

"You can walk if you'd like." Leigh smiled wryly and squealed when Daryl jokingly reached over to tug a lock of her hair. They sobered shortly after and another pensive look passed over Leigh's face.

"Now what?" Daryl grumbled, chewing his thumbnail.

"You think this'll end? I mean, you think the dead will stop rising and trying to eat us?" Daryl didn't answer, which didn't sit well for Leigh. The silence stretched between them, giving Leigh time with her thoughts. What was this virus? There hadn't been a broadcast in God knew how long, no news, no signs of any attempt to get the country back to the way it was. They were living day-to-day now, but would that ever stop? Would there ever be a chance to stop surviving and start living instead? Or was this all there was? Abandoned cars and the living dead? Was anywhere safe anymore?

These questions played on a loop inside her head, even as the housing development loomed in the distance. Daryl pulled up his machete, leaned slightly out the window, as the car ambled off the highway and onto the dirt road, covered in a thin layer of snow. Few walkers shuffled along the main street, but the cold and snow slowed them down considerably, making it easier altogether to avoid them. They groaned and gurgled at the oncoming car, their thin arms stretched out and dead fingers grabbing at the air. They staggered to follow as the SUV drove by. At one point in time, the housing development would have made a nice neighborhood. The houses were all built in a similar fashion, but all were different colors. More than one had smashed windows, kicked-in front doors. One garage door was locked and secured with a heavy padlock, and spray-painted on it were the words, _Don't open. Dead inside._ Exchanging a dark look with Daryl, Leigh pressed on the gas and accelerated past the house, opting for one further down. They searched the street for any sign of the Atlanta survivors, but they saw nothing to suggest that anyone had been there since this whole thing started.

Stopping the car, Leigh threw it in park and sat back. She looked at Daryl, who was watching the mirrors and the windows.

"Where do you think they went? It doesn't look like anyone's been here for a while. Maybe they didn't come this way at all. Why would they do that? Mark it off on the map and then just not come? Wouldn't they know we'd come this way?"

Daryl simply shrugged and put his thumb in his mouth. His eyes flickered to the mirror every few seconds, just to be sure that no walkers got too close.

"Maybe…maybe they found some place else," Leigh said hopefully. "Maybe they just didn't make it this far, found somewhere else that seemed safe enough." Daryl only grunted in response. Frankly, now that they were here, he didn't know what the hell to do. They'd both been so sure that the other survivors would be here. Now that they knew they weren't, what did they do now?

"We'll double-back, stop an' look at the map. Maybe there's somewhere between here and that campground that we missed," Daryl suggested. Nodding, Leigh revved the engine and turned around. The walkers snapped at them and, just for kicks, Daryl shoved open his door and took out a large woman in a pink nightgown and curlers in her hair. Leigh raised an eyebrow.

"Looked like my Ant Sheila," he muttered, settling back into the seat.

* * *

**Author's Note: **It's here! It's here! The sequel you've all been waiting for. Honestly, you can thank AMC and their Walking Dead marathon this weekend for giving me the muse to actually write something. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've written, and damn, it feels good. As always, feedback is welcome! As well as concrit. I'm always looking for help in improving my stories and writing. Also, I'm going to try and get something written for my other TWD story,_The Road Not Taken_. I may delete it and just rewrite it. I'm not sure yet.

**Edit: **Thank you to **Nelle07** for pointing out that Daryl's crossbow kicked the bucket in the prequel. One of my biggest flaws, forgetting details. Don't worry, he may find a new one. ALSO, I am contemplating starting a new story as well. It'll be Walking Dead, as per usual, but I'm not sure when you'll see it just yet.

xx Perry


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Walking Dead_.

* * *

"Goddamn son of a bitch," Daryl cursed, laying a hard kick into the now flat tire. Leigh hung out the open window despite the cold, watching. The SUV they drove was far from old, but the tire had blown nonetheless; she was just thankful they didn't skid off the road into a freezing lake. Instead, they came to a nice, soft stop on the median.

"We don't have a spare?" she asked. Her mouth snapped shut when Daryl's hard glaze flickered to her. "Guess not. Well, now what? Can't we take one from one of these cars?"

Daryl shook his head and kicked the tire again. "Don't have the tools. Jack, tire iron, nothin'. Looks like we're walkin'."

"But what about all of our supplies?"

"Take what we need, and tha's it. Let's go. 's fuckin' cold." Groaning, Leigh made sure to bundle up so she could carry more in her arms. Daryl almost laughed as she emerged from the truck looking like a fat, green penguin.

"Shut up, Dixon." She pushed by him and almost lost her balance, waddling to the trunk to begin loading up. She pulled the knapsack of food and medical supplies onto her shoulder and began hanging plastic bags off her arms like a Christmas tree.

"Too much shit, Leigh. Hafta travel light. Put 'em back." Leigh looked at the bags on her arms, silently chanting Eenie Meenie Miney Mo in her head. She put three of the bags back and turned around.

"Happy?" Daryl only smirked as he loaded up with the tent and a second bag of food. Then he shut the trunk, handed Leigh her baseball bat, and swung the machete in its leather sheath over his shoulder. "Got the map?"

He nodded and they set off down the road. The snow crunched under their boots as they headed further down the highway, putting distance between themselves and the safety of their vehicle. Daryl's grip shifted on the machete. It wasn't a bad weapon; it was sharp and quicker to maneuver than a crossbow, and it didn't require reloading. But a crossbow in his hands really put him in his element. Not to mention, it was a hell of a lot easier to hunt from a distance with a crossbow than it was to sneak up on prey with a machete. Regardless, he recognized that he may never feel another crossbow in his hands and tightened his grip on the machete.

They headed south on the 75 at a slower pace than either of them liked. Leigh huddled in her coat, wishing they still had heat. They met up with a few walkers, slowed down by the weather, and they were quickly dispatched with a quick swipe of Daryl's machete. He wiped the blade off in the snow without so much as a grimace. It was disturbing how commonplace it was to kill a walker now. Leigh followed a few steps behind him, keeping an eye on the sides of the road for any signs or exits. A brown sign advertising a national park campground caught her eye, and she almost sighed at the prospect of another camp-out. The last one hadn't gone so well. While the limp was gone from her stride, she still bore a scar from Ted's knife, one that would serve to remind her of the ordeal she and Daryl lived through. She decided against telling Daryl of the campground, knowing he would have seen the sign as well and had the same qualms about camping out.

So they kept walking until the sun began its descent on the western horizon, and still no place suitable to stay the night revealed itself. Growling, Daryl began searching the cars. Many of them had smashed windows and locked doors and a few still bore decaying bodies. He avoided those as best he could and chose a pickup truck with an extended cab. He helped Leigh inside and together they sat side-by-side and looked over the map.

"I don't know where they could've gone," Leigh muttered, searching the area around their location. "I think we're about here. We passed that national park a ways back. So around here, I would guess. What is this?"

Daryl squinted and pressed his face closer to the map. "Looks like a prison."

"Think they went there?" she asked, hopeful. Daryl brought his thumb to his mouth and then thought better of it. Instead he shrugged.

"Could be. Could also be overrun with walkers. Could be people not lookin' to make friends."

"So what do we do?" She waited while Daryl looked over the map.

"There's a town here, few miles southeast of where we are. We can scavenge there, make our way towards the prison. 'f I don't like the looks of it, we head back the way we came. Don't make any new tracks. It'll be slow, but it'll be safe. We'll head out at dawn. Get some sleep."

The next morning, they set out just as the sun peaked over the trees. It was considerably warmer this morning than the previous day, so Leigh shed her heavy coat and looped it through the strap on her bag. The walk was easier, due to the heat melting away most of the snow on the road, and walkers grew scarcer aside from a few stragglers that were easily avoided. Ducking behind cars exerted far less energy than putting down walkers, energy that could be better used to push them closer to the small town.

As they sat down on the pavement to dine on a few Twizzlers and a can of cold hash, the sound of an engine froze them in their places. Then, their minds on the same track, they shot up and quickly ran off the road, into the wet trees. Daryl pushed her behind a bush, and he took a place not too far away. He held up a finger, as if she needed to be told twice to be quiet. Nodding regardless, she fixed her eyes on the road.

Seconds ticked away like minutes, and minutes like hours, but just as Leigh shifted her position into something more comfortable a dark, battered pickup came into view. She froze and watched with wide eyes as five men, all heavily muscled and armed to the teeth, jumped out and began rummaging through the vehicles. She looked at Daryl as one of them kicked over their unfinished can of hash, paused, and looked towards the woods. Daryl's gaze was steady, unwavering, and it told her to stay calm. In his head, he worked through a plan, but was coming up empty. The big man called to another, a man named Hector, and pointed out the can and the tracks in the mud Daryl and Leigh had left behind. The men looked toward the trees, right at the bush behind which she hid, and she shivered. She looked at Daryl again, mouthed _What do we do?_

He gave a quick shake of his head, and something in his eyes changed as he looked at the men gathering at the edge of the highway, peering into the woods. Something very close to fear. Just before their position could be given away, another man stepped up and yelled out.

"Look at ya'll, gettin' riled up by a set o' tracks that prob'ly belong to roamers. C'mon, get what we can and le's go." They didn't remain longer than ten minutes and after gathering whatever supplies they could find, they roared off. Daryl held up a hand when Leigh prepared to stand up and shook his head, held up five fingers and swung a finger in a circle. _Give it five minutes. Make sure they don't circle back._ Nodding, Leigh resumed her crouched position. When the truck didn't make a reappearance, Daryl rose first.

"We'll stick to the tree line. 'f those bastards come back this way we don't wanna be on the road when they come through."

It took them longer to trek through the woods than on the highway, and they were forced to take refuge beneath a mass of boulders that formed a small cave. They hadn't gotten quite as far as Daryl had hoped, and he stood at the mouth of the cave chewing on his thumbnail, stared out into the abyss of bare trees. Leigh, meanwhile, was plenty happy to lay down her coat and take a seat on it, happy to lie down and relax.

"It's my turn to take watch," she said, pulling off her boots to rub her feet. Daryl stayed silent, and Leigh took it as compliance. She leaned against the wall of the cave with her baseball bat, Daryl curled up on the ground beside her. The cave didn't call for much personal space, and so she felt it every time Daryl inhaled. She watched him a few moments. They didn't speak much unless to discuss a new plan of action; Leigh determined it was just his personality. Since he'd run dry of making fun of her for being a "sissy girl", he didn't say much at all. Lifting a hand, she moved to brush the hair from his forehead but caught herself, brushed it over her hair instead. Sighing, she leaned her head back and watched the darkness outside the cave.

Meanwhile, Daryl laid awake, eyes open and focused on the opposite wall. He felt her move, felt her sigh, and he had to stop himself from sighing, too. He knew their communication was now limited to planning and directions. Sure, some easy banter here and there, but the way they both saw it, if they didn't have anything to say, they didn't say anything at all. The truth was, he was too focused on trying to protect her, and their incident in the woods hadn't helped that. In fact, as he looked back on it, he felt even more useless to her now than he had when he had been tied up against the tree. He'd kissed her that day, thankful to whatever god was watching over him that she was safe. But she'd still gotten hurt. He'd catch her subconsciously running a hand over her thigh where the knife had left a ragged scar, and guilt would hit him like a freight train. He'd failed in protecting her then, and nothing scared him more than failing again. He felt for her what he hadn't ever felt for anyone else. No other woman kept him grounded the way she did. All she had to do was look at him and the breath would be sucked from his lungs. His heart thudded against his ribcage. And today, what if those men had followed their tracks? Found them? He was one man. How could he have protected her against so many men? There was no way, no possible way for him to keep her safe. Today had been the first time he'd been afraid since he was a child. Afraid for her, and he knew she'd seen it. Did it make her think of him differently? Why did he feel so violated? _Because you're supposed to be the brave one_, he thought. _What's she gonna do when she realizes you're nothing but chicken shit?_ Daryl grit his teeth and closed his eyes against the sting of tears. He wouldn't cry. That would surely show weakness. For the first time in a long time, he could hear Merle's voice in the back of his head.

_Yer a pussy, lil' brother. Chicken shit. Ain't nobody gonna care 'bout ya. 'cept Merle. 'bout time ya learned that._

Daryl didn't fall asleep that night.

He looked down at the smoking mess that, not too long ago, served as their salvation. Now it belonged to the walkers as they staggered through the debris, searching for anything living to gnaw on. Through the binoculars he saw a man with a broken leg struggling to push a rather large piece of debris off his lower body. The walkers were faster and were on him almost instantly. His screams and cries echoed off the hills, bringing the hair on the back of his neck to attention. Not many had made it out after the tank had barreled through the fences surrounding the interior. In fact, he counted six that managed to dodge the walkers and head up the western slope. None of the intruders followed; none of them made it out alive. The tower of smoke billowing into the air would surely alert any survivors within a five-mile radius and he sure as hell didn't want to be here should any of them show up. Not to mention, the noise would have attracted any walker in the immediate vicinity, and he most _definitely_ didn't want to be around for that. Checking his watch, he gave a terse nod and retraced his steps back toward base camp. He cast a last look over his shoulder at the people stumbled up the hillside towards the trees. He felt for them, truly felt for them, as he turned back around, his boots sliding in the mud left from the melted snow.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It feels good to get back into writing, lemme tell ya. I'm going to try and update my two active _Walking Dead_ stories twice a week. Hopefully that schedule will work. Thank you to **Nelle07** and **SarCuppCake** for reviewing the debut chapter! Please leave a review if you favorite/alert. I love to hear everyone's thoughts!

xx Perry


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